


'tis the season

by irreputablyyours



Category: Music RPF, Oasis (Band)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Reunions, the whole shebang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irreputablyyours/pseuds/irreputablyyours
Summary: Did someone say advent fic?!!
Relationships: Liam Gallagher & Noel Gallagher, Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher
Comments: 87
Kudos: 33
Collections: BritPop Advent Calendar 2020





	1. wrapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to start an actual longfic, but then I saw that there was an advent thing and I was like...yes. Sign me up. I've never done anything involving collections before so please tell me if there's anything I'm screwing up on lol.  
> Anyways, I'm very sorry for starting the whole thing with angst. This idea just grabbed me by the collar and wouldn't let me go. I swear most of this will be happy.  
> Anyways, housekeeping: 
> 
> Day: 4  
> Timestamp: 2019  
> Rating: G  
> Content: Angst, regret

The cassette tape is old, blank but for the small, unmarked white label. _Songs for you,_ it reads, in Noel’s handwriting. He can remember scratching it out, back in ’09. His handwriting’s sloppy because he was seven shots into the vodka and he could barely see straight, but he could never find it in himself to replace it. There’s no tracklist, but Noel knows the whole thing by heart anyway. It’s the soundtrack to his fucking life, of course he knows it: _If We Shadows, Live Forever, Slide Away, Acquiesce, Wonderwall, Don’t Go Away, My Sister Lover, Let There Be Love._

Every single year, he wraps this damn cassette. Rips up the wrapping paper and ties the ribbon into Gordian knots. He never writes a card. What the hell is he supposed to say? _Merry Christmas, Liam, here’s the closest thing I can give to an apology?_

He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He loves his life, he loves his wife and his kids. His brother is a fucking pain in the arse, and he somehow manages that in spite of the fact that Noel’s hasn’t talked to him for over a decade. God only knows what he’d be like if he and Noel actually had a conversation. This whole thing is stupid. 

He’s halfway through wrapping the cassette (for the tenth time now, it’s practically an anniversary). The stars are shining in through his window. The neighbour's got their lights strung up already - it's barely fucking December, Noel thinks. He shakes his head and stares back at the present. 

He wonders how Liam’s doing. If he misses Noel.

(Noel is being ridiculous. Of course Liam misses him. Liam needs Noel like he needs the crowd shouting his name, like he needs a high.)

Noel crumples the paper in his hands, staring blankly at the ball-up depictions of smiling snowmen. _It’s useless,_ he’s thinking. Noel doesn’t know how to apologise to Liam. Liam doesn’t know how to apologise to Noel. It’s just how they are. 

There’s no point. He rips up the paper and throws it in the bin, shoves the ribbon back into its cabinet. He’s got to wake up early tomorrow and get the kids to school and make them breakfast. He doesn’t have time to be reminiscing over Liam.

He almost throws the cassette out the window, same as he does every other year. But something keeps him holding on. He knows it in his bones, in the same way he knows his way through the alleyways of Manchester or the way he knows how to play a C chord on the acoustic or the way he knows the precise look in Liam's eyes that will inevitably make Noel weak in the knees, that will make him write things like _I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now._ He knows it with all the inevitability of a fucking hangover, knows that he'll be here next year, in this exact place, doing the exact same thing all over again.

Every single year he wraps that cassette, and every single year he unwraps it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love hope you guys liked!


	2. eggnog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day: 5  
> Timestamp: 2019  
> Rating: T  
> Content: Reunions, flashbacks, kissing

“C’mon. You know you want to.”

Noel’s biting at this inside of his cheek, and when Liam glances down his fingers are crumpled into fists. Liam knew choosing a different bar to frequent would lead to interesting consequences, but he'd never thought of...

(Who is he kidding. He's always thinking about seeing Noel, always wants to. He's never seen the point of lying to himself.) 

Noel looks good. His hair’s styled decently for once, although he’s wearing the type of suit that makes him look about ten years older, fucking geezer. He’s not yelling at Liam yet for looking at him like that (or for speaking to him) but Liam supposes there’s still time.

Still, though. It’s almost Christmas. Even Noel should be capable of loosening up for a few minutes.

Liam gestures to the seat next to him, kicking the stool so that it comes out from under the high bar table.

Noel’s still standing there, looking like a fucking freeze-frame.

“Get ‘im a fucking eggnog, he needs some holiday cheer,” Liam tells the bartender, sipping at his own drink.

Liam watches Noel, waiting for him to walk away like, like he did over a decade ago, like he’s done every time they’ve seen each other since.

Noel must be possessed, because he sits down. When Liam looks at him, he just tilts his head.

“What? I want that fucking eggnog," he says, holding Liam's gaze like this is supposed to mean something. Liam rolls his eyes. 

Of course he remembers. 

_Christmas Eve, 1990. Mam’d had to work and Paul had been doing who-the-fuck-knows what, so it’d just been the two of them. Noel had been halfway into a mix of cheap-eggnog-and-bad-rum when Liam decided to pry it out of his hands and drink from that same bottle._

_Noel had looked at him, and that was the first time Liam could remember seeing that look in his eyes. Intense focus, almost hunger. He was absentmindedly touching his lips, and his face had been far too flushed for the amount he’d drank._

_Liam had only needed one swig from the bottle to convince himself that kissing his brother would be a good idea. Noel had been looking at him like he_ meant _something, and that had been more than enough._

_He’d tasted like sugar and cream and rum and Liam had loved every second of it._

That had been the first time. He barely remembered it now, there had been so many others, but – somewhere in his mind, that will always stick.

Maybe it’s the same for Noel.

He looks up at Noel, who’s now avoiding his gaze, as though looking at Liam would break his world entirely.

“Cheer up, you twat,” Liam tells him, taking another swig as Noel’s mug arrives. Noel eyes it, grabs it, and meets Liam’s gaze.

“How can I? You’re here,” he says, but he doesn’t sound resentful, like he did before the band broke up, or angry, like he does whenever Liam’s listened to interviews of him from the last decade. No, Noel sounds almost...fond. (He must be getting soft in his old age.)

“You love it,” Liam says back, thinking back. He wonders if Noel would kiss the same way he did in 1990, now: what he’d do if Liam leaned over and pressed their lips together.

Noel smiles back, just the tiniest bit, and Liam thinks that, if he plays his cards right, he might just find out.


	3. mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...You can tell I had far too much fun with this one. 
> 
> Day: 6  
> Timestamp: 1996  
> Rating: T  
> Content: Public kissing

Liam doesn’t know why Noel looks so panicked.

“Liam,” he’s whispering under his breath, the Christmas lights glinting and reflecting in his eyes. “Look up.”

Liam glances up. They’re under the mistletoe.

He raises an eyebrow. Noel’s shaking his head minutely. By now, there’s a few people that are turning to them, probably wondering if they’re going to start a fight. That’d be good publicity, though it’d not exactly what Liam has in mind right now.

“Ey, someone stuck the Gallaghers under the mistletoe!” Someone exclaims. Liam feels an intense desire to point out that he’s been standing here for ten solid minutes, making eyes at Noel like he’d had something really important to tell him.

Looking back to Noel again, Liam tilts his head. “Well?”

Liam likes that he can see the shift in his expression, can point out the split-second where Noel goes from completely hating the idea to liking it. It’s an excuse, something they can easily play off. What’s more, he catches on that Liam’s challenging him. Noel’s good at keeping things from Liam (does Liam ever hate him for it), but he’s always been bad at resisting a challenge.

Liam leans forwards, shifting his posture so that they’re standing closer together. He glances at Noel again, and he swears, sometimes they can read each other’s minds.

 _Nothing too graphic,_ Noel’s thinking, probably, biting his lip a bit.

 _Aw, c’mon, we should give them a show._ Liam tilts his head, rolling his eyes.

 _You’re impossible._ That, Liam doesn’t need mind-reading to figure out.

 _You love it._ He reaches out to grab his brother’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Maybe it looks weird, but Liam’s never given a shit what looks weird. He’d fucking marry Noel if he could.

Deciding they should probably, y’know, _kiss,_ before someone can invoke the incest clause on this whole thing, he slides his hand to Noel's hip and leans down a bit, smiling into the kiss. Noel’s lips are soft and warm and he tastes faintly of champagne, the faux-rich fucker.

He tugs Noel a bit closer, wondering how much groping he could get away with. Noel responds in kind, tongue touching the seam of Liam’s lips. Fuck, he loves it when he can get Noel to break like that. Noel lets go of his hand, sliding his hand possessively over Liam’s hip, just grazing over his arse. Liam shivers, and Noel smiles into the kiss. Controlling fucker.

He’s not sure how long they go on like that, but eventually someone coughs, and Noel jerks back like he’s been fucking set on fire. He looks at Liam. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are bitten red and raw. Liam wishes he had a marker, wishes he could write _property of Liam Gallagher_ all over him, so everyone would know it was _Liam_ who did that.

Noel coughs, glancing about. “He looks a bit like a woman, doesn’t he? When you drink enough,” He says to the crowd that’s gathered around them. There’s a few awkward laughs.

Fucking twat. Liam glares, rolls his eyes. “You’re a woman. Look at how much you care about your clothes. You thing I’m buying meself two hundred-dollar shirts? Hell no. You, on the other hand, are sat there spending six hundred bucks on your fucking trousers.” He can feel the crowd lightening up around them. They’re used to him and Noel fighting. You’d be amazed at how people would modify the world to see what they found acceptable. Noel could kiss Liam onstage in front of eighty thousand people, and no one would care. Because they didn’t want to think about it. It was that easy. One day, he’d get that through Noel’s leaden skull.

He glances up at the small bundle of frosty-tipped green leaves hanging above them. For now, though, he’ll settle for kissing under the mistletoe.


	4. snowed in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I know the prompt was ‘snowed in’ but I was looking up the weather stats for Manchester and ...I just can’t. People talking about how their entire schedule’s gotten ruined by 10cm of snow is just so _strange_ to me. I remember some places I've been there’d be 1 ½ metres of snow and everyone would just go about their lives like nothing was wrong. So, uh, I took creative liberties. Hope it still works lol. 
> 
> Day: 7  
> Rating: G  
> Timestamp: 1982  
> Content: Platonic fluff, snowball fights

“’S fuckin’ snowing!” Liam’s yelling, hands pressed up against the window. A snowflake flies by his eyes, and he grins at it.

Noel stares at him. Sometimes, he could swear the five-year difference between them felt like a fucking lifetime. Here was Liam, nine years old and excited about snow, whereas Noel was just about ready to throw in the fucking towel. He had been planning to do things tonight (mostly getting pissed with his mates at whatever pubs they could sneak into) and now he was stuck sitting inside with his little brother. Mam’s out, Paul’s in the other room somewhere, but Noel had already tried to pawn Liam off to him to no avail. “You can manage him better,” Paul’ll say. “He listens to you.” Fucking liar, trying to stick Noel on babysitting duty. _Noel's_ not the oldest brother. 

“Yeah, it’s snowing, Liam,” Noel says, disinterested, trying to think about what in the hell he’s going to do with this waste of a night. He could try to snatch Paul’s guitar, or he might be able to dig out _Let It Bleed_ from the mess underneath his bed, he hasn’t listened to the Stones in a while.

“Noel!” Liam shocks him out of his thoughts by turning to him, eyes wide. “Let’s got have a snowball fight!”

“What are you, fucking stupid?” Noel turns to him. “It’s _snowing._ It’s _cold._ Why would we go outside?”

But Liam’s already grabbed his jacket, and he’s halfway out the door and Mam’ll be really mad if Noel lets him freeze to death... Noel grumbles, rolling his eyes and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Stupid twat of a brother, he’s got. 

Liam’s already taken off running, and Noel sighs as he pulls his jacket tight and runs after him. One day he’s gonna fucking kill Liam, he swears. It’s cold and cloudy and Noel almost slips on the snow and _why are they doing this when they could be sitting inside like normal people._

He’s got to the park and is just about ready to give Liam a solid piece of his mind when a snowball brains him in the back of the head.

Noel turns around, and finds his little brother grinning from behind a tree.

Oh.

It’s _on._

He leans down, packing up the soft snow into an icy little ball and pelting it straight at Liam. He misses, and Liam grins impishly and him. Although Liam misses his next shot, so Noel’s not really all that mad.

It goes on like that, and somehow by the end of it Noel’s laughing, even though his fingers are red and he can’t feel his toes. They’re both red-cheeked and covered in snow, Liam grinning as he collapses to the ground. “’M gonna make a snow angel,” he says.

“Snow devil, with you.” Noel quips. He’s too exhausted to care that Liam doesn’t hear him, sitting down in the snow.

Eventually, Liam gets up. “Aren’t you happy we did that, now?” He says, wide-eyed and seeking approval. Noel is, he feels pleasantly exhausted and he's smiling in a way he hasn’t in months, but it's not like he can tell Liam that.

Instead, he just rolls his eyes, standing up and brushing the snow off his trousers.

“C’mon, kid,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

He gets up and starts walking, knowing that Liam’ll follow him, grinning and chatting all the way through.


	5. immaculate conception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer I have not read Paul's book (or done any research about him...) so if he's OOC that's why. Oops. 
> 
> Day: 8  
> Rating: T  
> Timestamp: 1990  
> Content: Outsider PoV, discussion of religion

“But Noely, it doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense!”

It’s Christmas Eve, and Paul is at the end of his rope. They’ve been waiting for Mam to get home so that they can open the presents, and Noel and Liam have been arguing for the last twenty minutes. He'd forgotten how annoying they could get, when they really went at it. 

“How can you get pregnant without having sex?” Liam keeps tugging at Noel’s shirt, wide-eyed, using that whiny tone of voice that he employs whenever he wants something, although most frequently he seems to do it whenever he wants Noel’s attention. Which is a lot, these days. Paul is beyond glad he moved out of the house. Noel’s moved out too, although you wouldn’t think it. Whenever Paul drops by, he always seems to be around.

“It doesn’t make no sense!” Noel sighs a bit. Up until now he’s been steadfastly ignoring their youngest brother, his eyes trained on the telly, watching as some man from the BBC gives reports about American mall Santas starting a charity campaign or summat. Now, though, he turns to Liam, looking to the sky as though he's asking God for mercy. 

“What do you want me to say, Liam? Maybe Mary was just screwin’ around behind Joseph’s back so she made up the whole God thing, and they were dumb enough to believe her! Fuck me, I don’t know! I stopped going to church years ago, you know that.” He says the last part a little softer, as though it’s meant to be a compromise.

Liam doesn’t seem much satisfied with that answer, frowning as he drapes an arm around Noel’s shoulder and leans in close. Paul’s very glad he’s sitting on the chair and not the couch with them. For some reason, Liam never really grew out of being eight and wanting to hug Noel all the time, which isn’t surprising. It's more strange that Noel never seems to be able to tell him to shove off and get it to stick.

Liam runs a hand along Noel’s back, and Paul feels a very sudden desire to look back to the TV, where the man from the BBC is still drowning in Christmas lights at some enormous American mall. It’s not unusual, exactly, they touch like that all the time, but something about the conversation is making him shift uncomfortably.

Paul thinks he might hear Liam respond with “I know, I know,” but he’s talking too quietly for Paul to fully make it out. When he looks back at the two of them, Noel's moved away a bit, though not enough to actually shrug Liam off.

“Why do you even care?” Noel says, eyes still fixed on the telly.

Liam smiles a smile that Paul has previously only seen him use on the various birds whose skirts he’d been trying to lift. He leans in again, and whispers something that Paul can’t quite make out.

“...you know, then we could have a house in London and raise three of ‘em. The dream life. You want that, innit?”

He missed the first part, which might have given him some context for why Noel goes beet red. “You fucking slag,” he announces, and finally, actually shoves Liam off. Unlike usual, Liam doesn’t seem to upset, just smiling contently. He’ll get like that, sometimes, when Noel finally gives him attention. Like the cat who got the cream.

Paul wonders what on earth any of that had to do with immaculate conception, but decides he’s better off just watching the telly and waiting for Mam to get home. Noel and Liam have always been a bit strange – it's probably not worth prying into.


	6. pets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ridiculous but you know what? I'm alright with that. 
> 
> Day: 9  
> Timestamp: 1993  
> Rating: G  
> Content: Fluff, bantering

Noel takes another puff of his fag, glaring vainly at the gloomy weather. He’s been sat on this bench for two fucking hours, freezing his fucking arse off, because he'd just about had it. They’d been recording in the studio for almost seven fucking hours (fucking Tony kept screwing up the timing on Bring It On Down, one day Noel’s gonna fire him so hard he’ll write fucking books about it) when Noel had just up and left, deciding he'd be better off staring at the sky and working his way through a full packet of cigarettes. 

Anyways, it’s three days to Christmas, and the only holiday spirit Noel feels is an immense desire to throw something out the window.

He huffs, sucking on his cigarette, trying to decide whether or not it’s worth the pain to head back to the studio and actually finish a song today, when something prods at his ankle.

Noel looks down, irked. A small lump of fluff is perched right near where he’s been resting his foot. It huddles against his boot. He thinks about kicking it.

It meows, and Noel realizes that’s a kitten, looking up at him with big watery eyes. It’s probably cold, and it wants to huddle by him for warmth or something. Cats are mercenaries like that.

“Go away,” he prods the cat. The cat doesn’t go away.

“Go away,” he repeats. Amazingly, the cat fails to listen.

Rolling his eyes, Noel leans down and scoops up the kitten, perching it in his lap. He supposes it’s just the thing to do.

/

Liam finds him a few hours later, because of course he does. He’s _Liam,_ quite possibly the only person in the world who can ever figure out where Noel is when Noel doesn’t want to be found.

He sits down on the bench next to Noel stretching out his arms and yawning. “We been looking for you,” he says.

“Took your sweet time, now, did you.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You’re a cunt,” he says, cutting straight to the chase. Looking at Noel, though, he frowns.

“Ay – what’s that?” He says, looking quizzically at the kitten sitting on Noel’s lap.

Noel looks down, a bit surprised himself. He’d almost forgotten the kitten was there – the first hour he’d wanted to get up, but he hadn’t wanted to kick it off his lap – but now he’s so numb with cold he just doesn’t notice anymore.

He looks at the kitten, reaching a hand to pet its fur. “Came whining at me and refused to leave. Reminded me a bit of you, actually.”

Liam waves a hand. “Nah, you’re the cat, not me. Cats only love you when it’s useful.”

Noel looks at the kitten, biting his lip despite himself. There are all these words he wants to say to Liam – right now, for example, _I love you far more than is useful._ But he can never say them – they get all clogged up and stuck in his throat, only ever come out wrong.

“If I’m a cat, then, you’re a fuckin’ puppy. Running after people, never leaving anything the hell alone.”

Liam doesn’t seem that annoyed, which is strange for him. When Noel glances over at him, he realizes it’s because his brother is focused on the kitten, dangling his fingers in front of it and trying to coax it into letting him pet it. Noel feels a pang of something in his chest, has a thought like _look at me for God’s sake, I’m more important,_ followed by, _wow, that sounded pathetic._

Eventually the kitten nudges its nose against Liam’s fingers. Noel looks up a Liam, who's smiling brightly.

“We’re keeping it, right?”

Noel blinks. He hadn’t even thought of that. Cats are nuisances at the best of times, and ‘in the middle of recording a record and trying to make it big’ doesn’t much qualify for ‘the best of times.’ Looking at Liam, though, he realises this isn’t a fight he can win, really. Liam looks so damned invested, already – and, hell, it’s the holidays.

“Merry fucking Christmas, for the next ten years. You’re holding onto it.” Hell if Noel’s keeping that thing in _his_ flat. Louise’d fucking throw a fit.

Liam grins at him. “You’ll just have to stop by, then,” he says. Noel looks at the little ball of fur making itself at home in Liam’s jacket, and thinks that yeah, he probably will.


	7. under the tree lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this in part owes its existence to the lovely OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed, who mentioned that I should try my hand at writing UST for these two. (I mean, technically this isn't _exactly_ UST, but..shhhhh.)  
>   
> Day: 10  
> Timestamp: 2002  
> Rating: T  
> Content: UST, kissing

“You think we shoulda gotten ‘em in blue? Nicole wanted to get ‘em in blue.” Liam’s staring at the dangling bulbs hanging from his Christmas tree, gesturing from the floor at the lights.

Noel glances at the tree. It’s decked out in red bulbs and white lights and silvers tassels, so tall the star grazes the ceiling.

“Blue lights would’ve been a fucking disaster, I’m surprised Nicole has that poor taste,” He says, nudging his foot against Liam’s ankle.

Liam pouts. “Okay, it was my idea.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“"M not a liar. Why are you sitting up there?” Liam says suddenly, a total non sequitur.

“’Cause I’m not five anymore?” Noel says. He’s sitting in a chair, like a normal person. 

“You should sit next to me,” Liam says, reaching up to grab Noel’s hand, tugging on his wrist. Of course, Liam can’t stand it when Noel does anything by social convention.

“Fuck off,” Noel says, snatching his wrist away. Liam ignores his retort, pulling Noel down anyways until he ends up on the carpet beside Liam, his hand resting inches away from his brother’s hip.

They stay there for a few seconds, Liam looking up at the tree, smiling that strange sort of far-away smile that makes Noel want to grab him by the shoulders and force him to tell Noel what’s going on in his head. The tree lights glimmer in his eyes, twinkling like miniature stars. Noel has the strangest thought of _gorgeous._

“You should kiss me,” Liam says. Noel blinks.

“What?”

“I said: you should kiss me.” He holds Noel’s gaze and doesn’t blink, smiles softly.

“It’d be kind of romantic, wouldn’t it? Under the tree lights and all.”

Noel just _stares_ at him.

“You’re serious.” He says.

Liam nods. There are about seven thousand things Noel wants to say to that, but before he can voice any of them Liam grabs his hand, entwining their fingers.

“C’mon. Just this once.” It’s never _just this once,_ with Liam. Maybe that’s why Noel’s swallowing, leaning closer.

“I-“ He starts to object, to say, _I don’t think of you like that,_ but he stops. Stuck on his tongue are all the song lyrics he’d written with Liam in mind, all the times he’d chosen to indulge his annoying little brother instead of spending the night with his girlfriend, the times he’d woken up with sticky sheets and vague thoughts about how Liam felt pressed up against him, when he was teasing Noel onstage.

He moves so that his knees are astride Liam’s hips, his hands on either side of his head.

“Okay,” he whispers, feeling like a maniac, like the first time he picked up a guitar or did a line.

He leans down and kisses Liam, because it’s dark and, under the soft glow of the tree lights, the feeling in his chest seems a lot like love.


	8. ugly sweaters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...This was supposed to be porn but I got distracted by the bickering. Just as well, I suppose. Sexual content that was written for the prompt 'ugly sweaters' just doesn't look good on the resume. 
> 
> Day: 11  
> Timestamp: 2002  
> Rating: M  
> Content: Bickering, silliness, bets

“Bet you ten quid you won’t wear it.”

Noel hates Christmas shopping, and what’s more is he _fucking hates_ Christmas shopping with Liam. Because whenever Liam decides they (for some reason) need to spend even _more_ time together during the holiday season (as though being both in a band together and blood-related somehow wasn’t enough), fuckery like this always happens.

“That is the ugliest fucking sweater I’ve ever seen,” Noel says, and he’s not lying. It is _horrendous._ “I think my eyes are bleeding. Do you think they put enough neon? Or gingerbread men?” Every single Christmas trope is featured: demented gingerbread men and googly-eyed Santas stitched across a vibrant green, red, white, and (for some reason) vomit yellow stripe pattern.

“C’mon.” Liam says, raising his eyebrows at it. “For ten quid? I’ll pay for it.”

Noel wants to point out that he is a _millionaire,_ he does not need ten quid, and he certainly does not need to wear that stupid fucking sweater. But... Liam’s looking at him with a challenge in his eyes, a little smirk on his lips that says he thinks Noel’s already got old and boring and he’s hoping to be proven wrong.

“...Only if you wear the other one. And you still have to pay me,” he tacks on, just to be a cunt about it, because he can't stand having to give Liam a single inch, ever. 

Liam pauses, tilting his head.

“Fine.”

Liam buys the sweaters and hands Noel his, pulling it over his shirt and waiting expectantly for Noel to put on his. They’re going to look like twin twats, they are. NME’ll have a fucking field day.

“You’re a moron, you realise,” he says, looking at Liam’s smiling-snowmen-with-beady-black-eyes-in-green-tuque-hat displayed against a background of what might be dismembered reindeer. “A right fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got the googly-eyed Santa, so I think I win.”

Noel rolls his eyes and looks away. Loathe as he is to admit it, Liam might just have a point.

/

“No, I will not give you a blowjob while you wear that sweater.”

“But-“

“No ifs, ands, or buts.” The last fucking thing Noel needs is Rudolph’s corpse watching him go down on his brother.

Liam frowns. “You’re no fun.”

“Fun? You think that-“ He points to Liam’s sweater, “Watching us fuck- is _fun?_ ”

“It’s the Christmas spirit!”

“I –“ Noel’s about to say _how the fuck am I related to you,_ but he doesn’t even bother. It’s pointless. Noel knows Liam like he knows the back of his hand, better than he knows anyone else in the world. For some reason, the universe has decided Liam would be his whole world, brother and lover and colleague all in one, and at this point, Noel’s realised he’s just got to live with it. And besides, it means he knows Liam well enough to know that he’ll eventually concede on the whole ‘getting a blowjob while wearing the world’s ugliest Christmas sweater’ thing.

Although Noel’s probably going to have to fight him on, first.


	9. (sex) toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. This got out of hand. I swear, every time I set out to write porn it just...devolves into total emotional mushiness. So, uh, this may be horrifyingly OOC, and I will not be offended in the slightest if you tell me so. Also, I have not written straight-up sexual content since... *checks watch* 2017, and there's a reason for that (*hint* _I'm bad at it_ ) but I've had a lot of fun with this collection trying things I wouldn't usually, so... *shrugs* Here goes nothing, I guess. 
> 
> Day: 12  
> Timestamp: 1994  
> Rating: E  
> Content: Sexual themes, soppiness, melancholy

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Noel says, slamming a plain box in front of Liam, who’s sitting on the floor near the Christmas tree. They’ve got three hours ‘til Mam gets home, and Paul’s fucked off to spend the day with his girlfriend. Should be alright.

“I thought you said you didn’t get me a present.” Noel chews on the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t thought he’d get the day alone with Liam – and besides, the kid already had a big enough head after their first tour, last thing he needed was a goddamn ego trip.

“I lied,” he said, and Liam smiles gleefully. “Fuckin’ knew it,” he says, grabbing the box from Noel’s hands, ripping the wrapping.

“Considering you always get me such nice gifts,” Noel says dryly. Liam is the world’s worst gift-giver: his strategy extends to walking up to Noel, asking Noel what he wants for Christmas, and getting him exactly that. It’s not _bad,_ per se, but it’s not really fun or exciting.

Noel’d been trying for exciting, he supposes.

Liam looks from his present to Noel, tilting his head. 

“Were you planning to give this to me in front of Mam?”

“Well, I’ve got plenty of reasons to want to put you in cuffs, now, don’t I? Doesn’t have to be, y’know.” Sexual.

Liam raises an eyebrow, like he’s read Noel’s mind and he knows it’s precisely like that. “Mm-hmm,” He says, eyeing the handcuffs and raising his gaze to Noel.

“So are you gonna go through on it or what?” He says, eyes sparkling, and Noel can’t help but remember the first time they’d kissed, why’d he wanted this so much in spite of it be wrong on every level.

/

Liam’s in a good mood today; he hums happily as Noel kisses him, pushing him down onto his bed and straddling him. He flutters his lashes when Noel finally pulls away, fumbling with the cuffs.

In his head, Noel’s thinking that he should stop, should ask _are you alright._ But Noel’s never quite been able to tell wrong from right with Liam, never been able to put the brakes on it. So he pries off his brother's shirt and cuffs him to the headboard.

“You’ve wanted to do that a long time, huh?” Liam says, looking up at him. He’s grinning. Kinky fucker.

“Next time I’ll even get a gag, as well,” Noel quips, although they both know that’s a lie. Noel loves it when Liam begs and pleads and tells Noel _I love you_ between breaths.

“Next Christmas, maybe.” Who knows where they’ll be next year, at the rate they’re going. On top of the whole fucking world, he thinks - it’ll be impossible to spend the day like this, the two of them alone.

Noel shakes his head. He’s not thinking about that, not now.

He drags a hand down Liam’s chest, leaning forwards to press their lips together again. Liam responds in turn, their teeth clicking together as he nips at Noel’s lip, sliding their tongues together. It’s slow, languid, nothing like the quick blowjobs in the bathroom at the studio, the few times they’ve fucked in hotel rooms while on tour. Something about today feels different. Before it had always been an interlude – the real world was waiting just behind the door, the real world where you couldn’t look at your brother like he held the whole of the world in his hands. Here, now, if only for today, Noel thinks that the world outside might just not exist, that it could just be the two of them ‘til the end of the world.

He lets his hands wander, drifting down his brother’s chest, rubbing a finger over his nipple. He gasps a bit at that, and Noel feels a pang of arousal shoot through his chest, like a piece of shrapnel getting caught in his lungs. He’d always wondered what it’d be like, to have Liam bound up, incapable of doing anything while Noel just _touched_ him. Liam was the world’s most impatient lover, fucking jacked himself off when he thought Noel was taking too long. Noel’d fantasised about tying him up and fucking him hard, making him beg for it, making him cry – but here, now, this almost feels better. Liam’s looking at him with _love_ in his eyes, that’s the damned word, and Noel doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to – God fucking knows what he wants. He wants to fucking make Liam breakfast and sing him love songs and tell the whole world _here’s the person who’s got half my soul._

“You just gonna sit there?” Liam says, after Noel’s hands have been still for too long.

“Just thinking-“ The words get stuck in his throat, but Noel spits them out anyway, because...he doesn't know why. It feels right.

“Just thinking about how beautiful you are.” Fuck, does he ever sound like a faggot. And a retard (seriously, who falls in love with their _brother?_ Noel doesn’t believe in God, but if the man exists, he’s got a cruel sense of humour).

Liam seems similarly floored by Noel's words, but his expression of shock is quickly replaced by satisfaction. He’s blushing, something which Noel has almost never seen him do.

“Love you too, Noely,” he says, drawling on the nickname. He’s trying to sound unaffected, Noel thinks, but it doesn’t come out that way.

Noel leans down to kiss his hip, trace his fingers down the dark line of hair and grasp Liam’s cock. He’s already hard, hot and ready in Noel’s hand. Part of Noel wants to drag this out, but, well, they’ve got time. He can fuck him later, when he doesn’t feel so in love he thinks he might choke on it. He's hard as hell and his heart feels like it might beat out of his chest but all he can think is that this is _Liam,_ and he drives Noel fucking crazy and Noel loves him, loves how he'd just as easily fight as fuck, how he looks when he's bound up and _Noel's,_ how he's gasping out Noel's name like it's the only word worth saying. 

Liam comes within a few stokes, looking like he’s seeing stars. His lips are parted and his wrists are rubbed raw from the handcuffs and Noel want nothing more than to lean forwards, put a hand on his brother’s chest, and look him right in the eyes as he says _I love you._ He knows it’s what Liam would want. Liam’s twenty-one and still believes that you can have everything in life if you want it hard enough. He’ll tell Noel that, sometimes. _Whaddya mean you can’t spent the night with me? You can’t tell me you’d rather your fucking bird._ Or _I wanna be your boyfriend._ Or _when we’re fucking rich, we should buy a house together. In London, y’know._

Liam wouldn’t get that this is the exception, that there’s probably never going to be another time where they spend Christmas like this, wrapped up in each other, the whole world on the other side of closed doors. And Noel has no fucking clue how to tell him.

He glances away instead of holding Liam’s gaze like he knows Liam would want him to. Listens to Liam's breathing, and swallows. 

Eventually, Noel gets up, fixing Liam's collar and belt and undoing the handcuffs. “C’mon,” he says, instead of anything meaningful. “You need a fucking shower.”

“Is that a suggestion?” Liam says, raising an eyebrow. Noel smiles in spite of himself, hoping Liam will never be able to know what he’s thinking. If nothing else, they could be happy for now. 

“Well, you’ve still got to suck me off,” He says, because, well, first things first. Liam glances down, and smiles.

“Can do.”

“Merry Christmas,” Liam says after he’s sucked Noel off, licking his lips. He’s fucking disgusting, come all over his cheeks and smeared on his mouth, but Noel leans forwards and kisses him anyways, grabbing his hand and looking into his eyes.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, and smiles. Liam smiles back.

(It’s the first and only Christmas they’ll ever spend alone together, but Noel’s doesn’t know that then. Maybe it’s for the best.)


	10. hot cocoa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day: 13  
> Timestamp: 1989  
> Rating: T  
> Content: Sexual tension, kissing, fluff (in that order)

They’re sat on the couch, the telly blaring the lines of _The Good, The Bad and The Ugly._ Noel’s got his hand wrapped around a mug of cocoa, trying to concentrate on the film. He’d be doing not-too-bad if only Liam weren’t sitting next to him. His brother keeps leaning over so that their knees will touch, looking at Noel like he wants something.

“’S that hot cocoa?” He says, eyeing Noel’s mug.

“...Yes.” Liam’s eyes light up. He’s sixteen, but Noel could swear sometimes you would think he's five. 

“You gonna give us some?” He says, like he expects the answer to be _yes._ Noel had no clue why.

“Make your own,” He says, turning back to the telly. They’re at the part with the Mexican standoff; he doesn’t want to miss it because Liam’s being world’s biggest twat.

He’s so concentrated on the showdown he somehow misses Liam practically climbing into his lap, straddling Noel and looking right at him. He’s been doing that a lot, recently: touching Noel without any reason, vying for his attention, always fucking _looking_ at him. It’s driving Noel insane and he doesn’t even know why.

“I’m _trying_ to watch the movie, you fucking cunt-“ He says and Liam reaches over, placing his hand over Noel’s as he tries to pry the mug from Noel’s fingers. Noel acquiesces, knowing if he fights they’re both just going to end up sticky and burnt. Liam grins, stealing his mug and taking a long sip.

“’S good,” he says, but he’s looking Noel straight in the eyes and it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about the cocoa.

“Yeah, and it’s _mine,_ ” Noel says, trying to keep whatever strange energy Liam’s got going on from affecting him. Liam doesn’t seem to hear him, though, licking his lips and dropping his gaze to stare at Noel’s mouth.

“You wanna try?” He says, and Noel wonders why his voice has suddenly dropped.

“I’ve already drunk half of it, I know what hot cocoa tastes like-“ Noel starts, but before he can finish his sentence Liam’s pressed their lips together. It’s a dry, chaste kiss, feels almost hesitant, but the moment they touch Noel feels like fucking stars have exploded behind his eyes. _Oh._ Now he gets it, why every fucking song he writes these days seems to want to put _him_ where _her_ should be, why he can’t fucking stop _looking_ at Liam when he’s not supposed to.

...He tastes like cocoa. 

Noel touches his lips, looking at Liam and trying not to think. Liam looks at him, smiling as he sits back down next to Noel, pressing their legs together. 

"Wasn't hard, was it?" He says, and Noel's thinking, _easy as falling._ He must shake his head a bit, because Liam smiles, curling up next to Noel under the blanket, and resting his head on Noel's shoulder. He shuts his eyes, and Noel can't help but smile, he really can't. He's sure that something's happening on screen, but for the life of him, he can't tell what. The whole world feels warm and pleasant and Liam's somehow ended up holding his hand. Outside, snowflakes fall past the window and the world spins by, but for now there's just the two of them, the white noise and the telly and the hot cocoa and this pleasant warmth in Noel's chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember Noel referencing _The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly_ in Supersonic (2016) and I think I read somewhere that his favourite film starred Clint Eastwood (I think it was one of the earlier films in the series) so if you're wondering at the choice of movie that's why.


	11. 'you first' 'no, you'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argh this ficlet pisses me off immensely because the timeline requires it be set in August and that is screwing with my Christmas theme, which I do Not Appreciate lol. 
> 
> Day: 14 (oh wow am I ever late sorry about that)  
> Timestamp: 1996  
> Rating: T  
> Content: Kissing, UST

“Explain it.” Noel’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind, which is ridiculous.

“You first!” He says, glancing about. They’re in some backroom of the venue, probably supposed to be hitting the hotel, but Liam couldn’t care less. He’s still hyped up from the concert, practically jittering. Every time he looks at Noel it’s like someone’s put fucking Mentos in his Coke.

“No, you.”

“ _I’m_ not the one who walked up to my brother onstage and kissed him in front of 80, 000 people,” Liam says, looking at Noel incredulously. It’s been about ten minutes since the concert ended, and Noel’s been acting like everything’s just fine. It’s not fine, Noel had _kissed_ him, and... Liam can’t fucking stop thinking about it.

“Why did you do that?” He says.

Noel shrugs, not quite meeting Liam’s eyes.

“Felt like it.” He straightens his shoulders and raising his gaze, like he’s trying to find his balance on a tightrope.

“Besides, it’s nothing we haven’t done before. _You_ were the one who turned it into fucking Frenching up there. Explain that for us, will you?” He goes on, and Liam doesn’t know how it happened but they’re close now, a few inches apart, and Liam’s thinking about how Noel’s lips had felt on his, how he’s kissed like it’d _meant_ something.

“I felt like it,” he says back, saying those words right back. He looks right into Noel’s eyes, wondering what would happen if he touched him.

“So we’re the same,” Noel says, holding his gaze, and Liam thinks, _yeah, in more ways than one._ He hadn’t been surprised when Noel kissed him. It’d been more like, _huh, that’s about right._ Like it was inevitable.

His brother blinks, glancing down at the floor. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, Liam can tell, and when he looks up he doesn’t meet Liam’s gaze.

Liam doesn’t say anything. He thinks, if he opens his mouth, he might just end up saying that he _liked_ it. Thinking back, he thinks that Noel might’ve, too. Might like it now, if Liam leaned in and sealed the deal, forever branded them with that scarlet letter. They're close enough. 

Abruptly, Noel shakes his head and pushes Liam off, walking straight out the door. Liam watches him go, thinking about how he's never much believed in the concept of sin anyway.

Absentmindedly, he touches his lips.


	12. formalwear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late - I'm probably gonna skip a few things on this calendar, life's been a mess recently.  
> Also, should I get a tumblr? Is that where everyone's at? 
> 
> Day: 15  
> Timestamp: 2005  
> Rating: T  
> Content: UST (sort of), introspection

“Noely, help me fix me tie.”

Liam’s fiddling around in front of the mirror, clearly having no idea what he’s doing. Somehow Nicole’s talked him into actually wearing a suit (Noel had no clue how, that woman must work magic), and, seeing as the last time Liam wore a suit was never, he’s been sat here for a solid seven minutes staring at his tie.

“Fix it yourself,” Noel tells him, tugging on the sleeves of his suit. He’d just gone with a button-up. “Why’re you wearing the tie, anyways?”

“She said it’d bring out my eyes,” Liam turns around, holding the tie as though it was an organ he’d found in a jar. It's striped, black and navy blue, and Noel can’t help but think that Nicole might’ve had a point.

Liam’s pouting a bit, biting his lip and fluttering his eyelashes when he says, “Please, Noel, can you help me fix my tie?”

“I haven’t put on a tie in for-fucking-ever,” Noel grumbles, but walks over there anyways. They’re going to be late if Liam keeps fussing around, and he can live without hearing his brother whine for another twelve minutes.

He grabs the tie from Liam’s hands, resting his fingertips on his brother’s shoulders as he tries to remember how to do this. Paul’d taught him one – he thinks it might’ve been called three-in-hand or something – the simplest way to tie a tie. It’d have to do. Noel still had no clue why Liam was insisting on this, but sometimes he just got a thought in his head and couldn’t leave well be alone.

“Alright,” He starts. “So first you wanna pull the wide end down right, and then...” He pauses, suddenly struck with the thought of pressing a kiss to the back of Liam’s neck. He blinks, shaking his head.

“You cross it, and then wrap it around like that,” he says, probably doing an awful job of explaining this, but Liam doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are trained on the mirror. When their gazes meet, he smiles, and catches Noel’s hand in his own. His fingers are warm as he traces patterns up Noel’s wrist.

Noel snatches his hand away, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got a party to get to, remember?” He says, although it comes out more softly than he intends.

Liam tugs at the tie. “This thing’s tight, though. And annoying.”

“You haven’t even put it on yet!” Noel says, although he seems to have finally remembered how to do this, pulling the wide end up and through the loop. Liam shivers when Noel’s fingers graze against his collarbone. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “We’ve got time.”

“Time for what,” Noel says, doing his best to keep his voice indifferent as he finishes off the knot, tugging down the wide end of the tie and straightening the collar of Liam’s suit. He knows what Liam’s talking about, but he pretends not to. Always has. 

It’d been 1993 when Liam first grabbed him by the collar and kissed him so hard Noel saw stars. Noel didn’t know what on earth had compelled him to kiss back – he still doesn’t – but since then, there’s always been this tension between them, as though they’re walking on ice that could crack any moment. It rarely ever breaks, but when it does, it’s like the whole world outside of the two of them had ceased to exist.

They’d fucked in 1995, 1997, 2000, and 2002. Noel can remember each time as though it’d been preserved in an hourglass in his memory. Liam’s always fucking hinting at it: groping him on stage, writing songs about him.

Sometimes Noel can’t help himself, either.

“You know,” Liam says, drawing Noel’s hand to his lips. He turns around, and God – that tie really does suit him. He’s fucking beautiful, a fact that Noel’s never quite been able to cross out of his mind.

There are moments like this – on stage, when he turns to Liam and their eyes lock, or moments like now – where Noel could swear it’s just the two of them, where he forgets that he’s got a kid and a life and he loves his girlfriend so much he’d drag the moon down from the sky for her.

“It’s just us,” Liam would always say, messing up that quote from John Lennon. He says it again now, murmuring as Noel drops his hand to his brother’s hip and draws him in, kissing him like there was nothing else in the world worth doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to tie a [four-in-hand knot](https://www.ties.com/how-to-tie-a-tie/four-in-hand) on a tie.


	13. christmas party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _back_ and I bring long ficlets. The PoV on this one's a bit strange, I don't think I've written 1st person in at least three years, and especially not in this epistolary-ish format. Anyways, hope you guys like all the same, I had fun writing it lol. 
> 
> Day: 18  
> Timestamp: 2017  
> Rating: T  
> Content: Regret, UST

You already know this, but I’ve never much liked Christmas parties. The only time I can even remember liking it was that time when you pulled me into the bathroom and we did so many lines we forgot our last name. I remember you laughing, jabbing me in the chest, saying, “You’re the one, you know, you’re the one,” smiling so wide your eyes disappeared.

You don’t look like that when I see you this time, although it has been near twenty-five years and you hate me now. I’m at a Christmas party – see, I mentioned them earlier for a reason – with Debbie (my wife, you know I’ve got one, right?) and I’m fucking done I never understood how you could enjoy crap like this – a bunch of morons sitting about jacking themselves off over how great they are. That was never me, and I’d never thought that was you, either. But I can be wrong about you. These past ten years have shown that.

The only reason I don’t leave is because I see you. Yes, even across the room crowded with people, even though I haven’t seen you in-person for years. I can tell when you’re around by the sound of your footsteps, of course I can pick you out of the crowd (I know you can do the same with me. Don’t even bother lying, Noel.) You’ve got this magnificently miserable look on your face, hovering, as you do, by the alcohol. You go through a solid five glasses of punch in the time I watch you. I wonder what you’re thinking about.

Maybe it’s your bitch wife. She must’ve fucked off to somewhere, socialite that she is, left you alone. You were never bad at it, making friends and all that, but some days you’re just married to your misery. This looks like one of those days.

Watching you, I wonder what you’re mad about. Maybe Sara did something to make you mad. Maybe you can’t get around to writing that song that you know is stuck on the tip of your tongue (I bet it’s about me). Maybe you’re doing what I do sometimes when I’ve drunk too much, and trying your best not to let your regrets flash in front of your eyes like a slideshow (mine’s pretty short, maybe three minutes. It’s all about you.)

I feel that same twitch in my hands that I always do when I see you like that, melancholy and whatnot. Some part of me just can’t help but want to drag you out of it: fuck or fight it out, one of the two. I think I’m just wired like that: to be drawn to you, in whatever way I can manage. For some fucking reason.

Either way, I end up walking across the room to you. Studying your profile, I try to take in years’ worth of changes in a handful of seconds – you’ve got thinner and gained wrinkles, as well as smile lines (you’ve been smiling without me). You’re wearing a fucking suit – since when do you wear suits? Stop it, you look ridiculous. And your fingers are wrapped around a glass of purple-red punch, white from gripping it too hard. 

I know you’ve seen me. Deny it all you like, you can tell when I’m in a room. I swear, sometimes it’s like we can read each other’s minds. Here: right now, you’re thinking, _fuck, there’s Liam. Annoying twat, he’s going to make a scene. Should probably get away._ Then, as you glance down at your punch, _need more of this, even though it tastes awful. Don’t want to talk to him, though, but the alcohol’s here._ Your fingers twitch, and you wince just the slightest bit. _Want to talk to him. Wait. No. Stop._

See? Telepathic, that’s us. You can probably tell what I’m thinking right now, I bet. You’re smart like that.

You meet my gaze, reserved and cold like you’ve been every time I’ve seen you since 2009. Refusal’s in your eyes, and I know nothing I could say could change that.

But I know why you’re doing that. You like to keep things in, because you think if you don’t show an emotion it doesn’t exist. You lock up your feelings about me because they’re the most extreme ones you possess: because if your stupid fucking mask of indifference slips off, we’ll go right back to fucking hating and loving each other like we’d die if we stopped.

You glance away, probably looking for Sara, as if she could save you from me (she can’t save you from yourself, Noel, and it’s never been just me who felt like this, you know).

Did you tell her? Did you ever explain all those times we kissed, that time she found me kissing the edge of your lips in the hallway, just slightly beyond plausible deniability? Did you tell her who you wrote those love songs for? Or did you just tell her I was crazy, fucked in the head?

(I know I’m fucked in the head, Noel. I’m in love with my brother. But you’re fucked too. You loved me back.)

“The punch good?” First thing I’ve said to you in years.

“’S alright,” You say, looking at me like everything’s normal, like we’re two perfect strangers, like I didn’t spend all my childhood chasing after you, like I don’t know what you look like after I’ve given you two black eyes and a bloody lip, like I don’t know what you sound like when you come. 

I step closer to you, and I can see your posture locking up. You want to run away, but that would be admitting defeat. Instead you just stare at me, trying to keep your expression indifferent (you’ve got good at that, by the way) until I’m close enough to lay my hand atop yours. We’re inches away – I could kiss you, if I wanted to.

“You mad for it?” I say quietly, and you know and I know it has nothing to do with the fucking punch. It has to do with things that happened a quarter century ago, when we’d played concerts to thousands and you would turn to me and our gazes would lock and there’d be no one in the world but us. It has to do with the fact that we were invincible, once upon a time. It has to do with the fact that we loved each other in the worst way possible.

You do what you always do, and turn away. I brush my fingers over yours, wondering if you’re thinking of those times I’d hold your hand and insist on it, even if the tabloids were right there snapping pictures. I lean closer, tilt my head against your shoulder and smile into your skin. (Why are you letting me do this? Do you still love me? You must. It can’t just be me, right? Impossible.)

You shiver. Your skin’s warm. _Oh._

I want to kiss you, in front of your wife and all your famous fucking friends. Tell them _this right fucking cunt right here is my brother and I’m in love with him. And he loves me back._

You push me off, though, before I can do anything, and the look in your eyes is well enough an answer to my question.

“Go home, Liam,” you tell me, like I’m fucking seven again. And maybe somewhere I still am that kid, because all I do is steal your glass of punch and leave, holding your gaze as I take a sip. I want to argue, but no one could ever force you to do anything you didn’t want to, not even me. Call me sentimental, but I don’t want you to hate me more than you already do.

Better luck next time, I suppose.

(Did your gaze follow me as I left? I couldn’t make myself look, but I think it did. I think I still know you, even if time passes and we don’t talk anymore. I think you still love me. Right? Maybe you never did, though. Maybe I’m just seeing things.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, you can now find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/irreputablyyours), which I have no clue how to use but *shrugs* I'll figure it out. I will probably be stalking around in the shadows, reblogging things about gcest, as is my nature. (:


	14. christmas day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. This has been a ride, alright. I had a lot of fun, it was really great to see everyone else's fics! You guys are the best! I'm a bit sad that I didn't do every prompt, but I can't say I regret it, as I do need to sleep at some point. On that note sorry if this is a bit of a mess lol I tried. 
> 
> Anyways, a big Merry Christmas to everyone!!
> 
> Day: 25 (!!)  
> Timestamp: 2020  
> Rating: T  
> Content: Angst, introspections, reunions

It’s got to be world’s most depressing Christmas, Noel thinks. Sara’d put in a ton of effort setting up the tree and buying the kids presents trying to compensate, but nothing can fix the fact that they’re stuck in the middle of a pandemic and can’t have friends nor family over, or go anywhere, or really do anything. Admittedly, Noel’s relieved that he won’t have Mam telling him to invite Liam over, but that’s a small consolation when you can barely leave your house.

The future didn’t even look this grim in back in fucking 1989, and Noel hadn’t had a mansion and a wife he adored, back then.

Fuck. He’s sat in his studio, plucking out a series of chords – A minor, B flat, C9. Nothing feels quite right, he’s been trying to put together a song for weeks, but it just won't turn out right. All that comes out is the songs he’d been playing this time last year, or the noughties, or the fucking nineties. Lots of Oasis. He keeps grimacing every time his fingers slip over the chords to Acquiesce, or Sad Song or Wonderwall – it feels too fucking intimate, playing it like this, when the whole world’s gone to shite and he hasn’t talked to Liam for over a decade.

Christmastime always makes him nostalgic, for some reason. Instead of living and loving the people he’s had the good fortune to end up with now, he’d always struck with regrets.

He puts down the guitar with a sigh after realizing he’s played _Don’t Go Away_ for the seventh time in a row. He doesn’t even fucking like that song. This is getting pathetic.

The thought strikes him to maybe just bite the fucking bullet and _call_ Liam, wish him a Merry Christmas and all that garbage. Problem is, Liam’s a fucking arsehole who insulted his wife and makes Noel wants to throw things. Considering Noel’s state of mind right now is already pretty on-edge, and he’s surrounded with expensive guitars he can’t replace because _all the shops are closed,_ maybe that’s not such a great idea.

He stares at his phone. He’s so fucking _bored,_ though, is the problem, he’s called every single one of his friends (and Mam, and Paul) more times than he can count. He loves his family, would honest to God pull the stars out of the skies for them, but he’s kind of sick of them, at this point. 

He types out Liam’s number, which he could never quite forget. (He can misplace his car keys and forget the date he and Sara met, but for some reason Liam’s number is forever engraved in his memory. Fucking go figure.)

What would he even say? _Hello,_ probably. _Merry Christmas, you waste of space._ Then he’d hang up. That’d be alright. Maybe it’d make Liam happy.

...That wouldn’t be the end of it, though. If Noel called Liam, actually honest-to-God heard his voice and _said_ something to him, he’d break. Maybe in the past few years, he’d been stronger than that, could weather out the storm that was Liam Gallagher obsessed, but ten months of being relegated to his house has made him kind of crazy. He misses Liam, misses his absolute insanity and the way he makes Noel feels alive like no one else on this planet. The first few weeks after he’d left the band, he’d noticed that his fingers kept twitching, like he was in withdrawal. Sometimes he still gets it.

If he talked to Liam, he didn’t think it would end there. Soon enough they’d be arguing and laughing like it hadn’t been over a decade, like it was the ‘90s and they were young and stupid and in love.

/

_He’s had this dream before. He’s standing in a field a knee-high grass that stretches as far as the eye can see. Snowflakes fall and catch between his eyelashes, but he doesn’t shiver and he’s not cold, even though he’s only wearing a thin jacket. Far off in the distance, the sun glimmers on the horizon, turning from gold to dark blue in a matter of seconds._

_He blinks. There’s a figure off in the distance, a shadow he’d recognise even on his deathbed._

_Liam. He’s got a microphone in his hand, Noel thinks. Suddenly, they’re not in a field at all, but a hotel room that’s decked in gold and dark blue. Liam’s got his hand wrapped around Noel’s neck, like he might just choke him at any second._

_“Love you,” Liam’s whispering into his ear, and Noel can’t breathe, he’s fucking dying. He wants to say_ fuck you _or_ I’ll never not love you _but he can’t, he going to die and Liam will be the one who kills him. The breath leaves his lungs and his vision goes black._

_He’s back in the field, pieces of a red Gibson guitar shattered everywhere. Liam’s nowhere to be seen._

_Noel doesn’t know how but for some reason he’s fallen to his knees, staring at these pieces of broken wood. It’s important, he’s trying to remember why it’s so important that he put the guitar back together-_

He wakes up and nearly bangs his head on his desk, struck with that feeling you get when you miss a step on the stairs. There’s a noise ringing in his head, and at first he thinks it’s a gunshot.

...It’s the doorbell.

Noel blinks at the clock. It’s three in the morning. He gets up anyway.

/

There’s a gift at his door. There’s no card or tag. It’s in a paper bag and the wrapping looks like it’d been vomited up by a cat. Noel briefly pauses to consider the possibility that some nutter’s decided Noel needs to go the way of John Lennon and ascend to his ethereal throne. He’s not really thinking all that well, though – his hands are still shaking from the dream. (It was a factually inaccurate dream, at that. _Liam’s_ the one trying to salvage things, put that broken thing between them into action again. Not Noel. He drove away and never looked back.)

So he takes the package, eyeing it critically. It’s rectangular – maybe a book? Who sends him books at three in the morning?

Deciding that sleep can wait, he sits on his doorstep, bare feet chilly from the light dusting of snow that’s just landed. He tears the paper open, trying to discern what it’s hiding.

A plain black notebook lays between his hands.

He blinks.

_Liam sucked at giving gifts. The greatest Christmas present Noel had ever got from him was socks – socks, at least, were useful. Other than that, Liam had given him everything from shitty bootleg souvenirs to fucking Phil Collins records to actual packets of ketchup. It would inevitably provoke a fight between them, which was probably at least half of why Liam did it._

_The only thing he’d ever given him that was halfway decent was a notebook. It’d been nice, actually – fucking leather-bound with a bookmark and all. He was sixteen when he’d given it and smiling so brightly that Noel hadn’t even had it in him to ream him out for spending so much. Knowing the kid, he’d probably lifted it anyway._

_“Merry Christmas, Noely,” he told him, sipping hot chocolate and grinning at the tree, waiting for Mam and Paul to get home._

_“Why’d you give it to me now?” Noel said._

_Liam shrugged. “’S special.”_

_“What’s special?” Noel said, flipping through the notebook. There was nothing in it: it was just a notebook, plain and unpresuming. Noel looked back up at his brother._

_Liam's cheeks were slightly red as he leaned over and took Noel's hand in his own, looking into his eyes as he said,_ _“You and me. We’re special."_

_It was like someone had turned on a lightbulb in Noel’s head. He looked at Liam, and everything fell into place._

_That was where it started._

Fuck. Liam had known, hadn’t he. Before they’d made it big, before they’d fucked, before they’d even kissed. And he'd remembered that notebook, the fucker never remembered anything of importance, but here he was, reminding Noel of something that'd happened fucking three decades ago and deciding that old notebook needed a replica. 

...No, that wasn't right. The new notebook had writing in it. 

_We pick our own paths, right?_ Was scribbled on the first page. If Noel had had any doubt in his mind about the sender being Liam, this would’ve wiped it straight out. He’d recognise that handwriting anywhere.

They’d had a conversation in ’08, he thinks, when things were turning south but hadn’t truly gone to hell yet. It had been one of the few times where Noel had drunk more than Liam. He’d taken so many shots he couldn’t see straight. Still, he distinctly remembers one line from that evening. _You’re not me and I’m not you, right, we make our own paths and everything. But I’d still choose you, you know, in a heartbeat._ Liam, gripping his wrist with an iron vice. 

There’s an inkling of a sarcastic comment on his tongue as he looks over the words, but he just can’t make himself think it. He’s getting fucking soft in his old age.

The writing on the last page is tiny. _We could still live forever, right?_

Noel shuts the notebook. He puts it aside. He stares out at the snow falling gently over the garden, on the street. It glimmers it did in his dreams, like the snowflakes that’d got caught in his lashes as he tried to catch a glimpse of his brother in the fading light.

/

“It’s Christmas!” He wakes up to his kids screaming, so excited about getting presents they don’t even ask why their dad’s fallen asleep at the door with a blank notebook clutched in his hands. Sara casts him a worried look, but he shrugs it off and holds up the notebook as silent explanation. _Got caught up writing._ She’s still frowning a bit, but doesn’t say anything.

He watches and smiles as his kids open their gifts, and grins at his gifts – Sara was an amazing gift-giver, what with the vintage record collection and instruments she’d got him. He’s almost happy.

The notebook’s still clutched in his hands, though.

Eventually, they finish opening presents, and Sara’s in the kitchen baking cookies with the kids, having given Noel a list of people the need to call and wish a Merry Christmas to.

Noel stares at his phone. Notebook still clutched in his hand, he walks out of earshot of his family. He types in the number with shaky hands, and presses the call button.

The phone rings.

“...hello?”

He’s wished Liam Merry Christmas before, but it’s always been by texts or through Mam or Paul.

“Liam,” Noel thinks he might sound like he’s praying.

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line.

“You still love me, right?” Noel’s heart is threatening to hammer right out of his chest. Fucking Liam - he never gave a single fuck about social niceties or conventions. Goddamned honest to the last. Maybe that's what compels Noel to be honest in turn. 

“I do,” He says, like it's a no-brainer, as though he hadn't spent night awake on his bed trying to resolve that very question. Like it was obvious. Maybe it was, all this time. 

Liam pauses. Noel can practically _hear_ him fidgeting.

“But send your gifts at sometime other than three in the morning next time, okay?” Noel says. Liam laughs. He sounds relieved, like someone’s taken the weight of the world off his shoulders.

“Expect the unexpected, Noel.”

“Expect you to be a cunt, more like it.” Noel pauses. It feels so strange, to do this again – like they could do it forever, could just pretend that ten years hasn’t passed. But he can’t do that. If...if Noel’s going to talk to Liam, he has to _talk_ to him. That’s where they went wrong. That’s where they’ve always gone wrong.

“I didn’t get you anything.” He hears himself say.

“’S fine. Making up for all those years I gave you ketchup packets.” He laughs, and Noel smiles.

“True enough. And Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas.”

“...Merry Christmas.”

He has to hang up because Sara’s calling him, but he orders a guitar tuner and has it shipped to Liam’s address, alongside a bottle of ketchup.

He checks his phone a few hours later.

_Thx for the ketchup u cunt. LG_

He tries not to smile, texting back _Anytime._

Later on, he knows he’ll find himself texting Liam about – anything, really, telling him about his day or how City’s doing. God help him, they might just end up talking music again.

For now, though, he stares at that notebook, and thinks about being twenty-one and feeling like the whole world could be in his hand. _We could still live forever._ He turns the words over in his head. He’ll think about it.

There’s always hope. World’s most depressing Christmas is still Christmas, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also it wasn’t actually snowing in Hampshire at this time but I needed an aesthetic.


End file.
